


Dahlia

by Mel_S_Bancroft



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Falling In Love, Flowers, Language of Flowers, M/M, boys being awkward in love, so much smiling like omigosh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mel_S_Bancroft/pseuds/Mel_S_Bancroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The captains of Shitenhouji and Rikkaidai grow closer before and after Nationals. ShiraYuki fluff. Implied one-sided SanaYuki. SanaRenji if you squint.</p><p>(This pair really needs more love. I mean, come on, they're adorable!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dahlia

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based in canon, but it is not exactly canon compliant. Also, I know next to nothing about hospitals. I’ve been in them before, multiple times, but they terrify me. Seriously. Also, I wrote this before I saw the Yukimura hospital scenes in the anime, so I had no idea what his room looked like, but I couldn’t change it afterwards because it wouldn’t really work out. Sorry.

Shiraishi watched quietly from behind the book on poisonous plants that he was only pretending to read as the Rikkaidai regulars filed somberly out of the hospital room. Sanada was the last to leave, and as he gently closed the door behind him, their eyes met by accident. Startled, Shiraishi froze, knowing it was too late to hide behind the pages again, but the other boy merely acknowledged him with a slight nod before turning and following after his teammates down the hall.

Once the seven had disappeared into the stairwell at the far end of the hall, he snapped his book shut and levered himself up from his chair, making his way slowly to the room that was marked with a “Yukimura-sama” scrawled neatly on the placard. He hesitated a moment, hand poised to knock. He wavered. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and rapped at the door.

“Come in.” It clicked open. “What is it, Sanada, did you—”

The navy-haired boy fell silent and blinked a couple times when he was met not with the sight of his stoic dark-haired vice-captain, but of Shitenhouji’s captain with his hair of soft light brown.

“Shiraishi.”

“Yo, Yukimura.” He flashed a quick, weak smile before making his way over to the chair that stood on the far side of the room, next to the bed.

“Why are you here.” His voice was stern, but it wasn’t threatening. The brunet didn’t flinch away from it as he took a seat, his book resting in his lap, his hands crossed over each other.

“I was in the area and thought I would stop by.”

“Ōsaka is awfully far from Kanagawa,” he said almost accusingly, wondering what business the Shitenhouji captain could possibly have all the way on this side of Japan.

Shiraishi laughed nervously. “What, am I not allowed to support my fellow captain?”

The boy’s eyes flicked down to where his hands lay clasped in his lap. He opened them slightly before replying quietly. “That’s not it.”

A silence fell between them then, neither quite willing to break it before the other. Shiraishi idly fingered the corner of the pages. He had come here on little more than a whim, and now that he was here, he didn’t quite know what to say. The two captains each picked a separate point in the room and stared at it, avoiding the other’s gaze, as the silence stretched on.

“Seiichi.”

He started slightly at the sudden usage of his given name, his eyes snapping to the other boy’s face.

The brunet scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, so it’s no good calling you that after all, huh?”

Soft brown eyes met searching blue. “It’s fine, Kuranosuke.”

Smiling shyly, he let out a short, relieved laugh. He let his hand fall to return to its resting place in his lap, his face falling as well to seriousness. “I heard you’re going through with the surgery.”

“Ahn,” he nodded.

“It only has a fifty-percent chance.”

He smiled gently at the boy at his bedside whose brows had knitted slightly in worry. “It’s better than some. And if it succeeds, I shouldn’t have to be hospitalized for this again.”

“And if it doesn’t.”

“Then it doesn’t,” he returned simply, shrugging. “But I have confidence that it will.”

Shiraishi stared at him solemnly, unsure of what to say.

“But if it’s going to distract you from your tennis, I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be fine. I want this. And I want your team to give mine a proper run for their money at Nationals, whether I return or not.”

Expression softening, he nodded, then broke out into a smile. “We will. You won’t be claiming your third straight title this year, Seiichi!”

“We’ll have to see about that.” He returned his rival’s lopsided grin with a confident, determined one, and soon their smiling dissolved into laughter.

“Naa, Shiraishi,” the navy-haired boy started after they calmed. “What book is that?”

“Ah, this?” He held the volume up, flashing the cover in Yukimura’s general direction. “It’s a bible on poisonous plants. I already know over two hundred species, but there’s still so much I don’t know about them. Like the hyacinth…”

The remainder of their time spent together they spent chatting about plants—both poisonous and otherwise—and tennis and random things of minor significance, if they even held any significance at all. They never returned to the subject of Yukimura’s illness or impending surgery, for it was somewhat of a touchy subject for them both. That evening a nurse cracked the door open and informed the two that visiting hours were over. Shiraishi nodded and stood, taking one last look at the frail-looking but dignified boy before him. He smiled warmly and reached out and placed his hand atop his head, ruffling the soft, dark locks a little and wishing him well. He didn’t notice Yukimura’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, for he had already turned to leave without once looking back, hoping that the other didn’t catch sight of the slight pink that he was sure graced his cheeks.

* * *

The next time he visited was a mere couple days before the procedure was slated to be performed. His hand was poised to knock on the door when suddenly it opened and Sanada filled the doorway. Again, he acknowledged the captain with a terse nod. “He’s asleep,” he said.

Giving a short nod, Shiraishi stepped back and mumbled something in reply as the taller boy passed him. He caught the door before its own weight propelled it closed and stepped into the room, closing the door gently and soundlessly behind him.

But he didn’t completely enter, instead choosing to merely content himself with gazing at the sleeping form before him. He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen—or maybe had just refused to recognize—the certain beauty that Yukimura held. The golden afternoon sunlight filtering through the half-curtained window played off his high cheekbones and silken hair that pillowed in soft waves around his face, almost delicate and feminine. But at the same time he was decidedly _not_ feminine, but undeniably male. Maybe not masculine, exactly—no, not that—but still not feminine. And the air around him practically sang with his grace and elegance, only magnified by the dust motes dancing like tiny faeries in the sun’s rays.

He almost seemed unattainable.

Like he really was the Child of God.

But still, as mortals do, the brunet longed for that which he was sure he could never have. He crossed the distance to Yukimura’s bedside and placed the flower that he had brought with him on the table. Gently he reached out and brushed the navy locks out of the boy’s face—not that, he noticed, they needed to be smoothed away; it looked like someone had done so already—before bending down and pressing a light kiss to his brow.

When the door clicked slowly shut behind him, it was barely audible.

* * *

The sun hadn’t sunk by even a finger’s breadth before Yukimura’s blue eyes fluttered open again. Faintly he thought he felt the barest ghost of a warm pressure on the right side of his forehead, but any thoughts that might have strayed in that direction were immediately swept away when he turned his head. For there on the bedside table stood a single flower, eight salmony orange petals surrounding a small golden yellow center, standing proud in a slim crystalline vase no more than fifteen centimeters tall.

He reached a hand out to it. “Sanada…? No…” He smiled gently, lightly fingering one perfect, soft petal.

* * *

Not long after he woke up, still a little out of it from the anesthesia, a knock sounded at the door and it opened before he’d gotten a chance to invite in whomever it was. He pushed away the vague sense of disappointment he felt at seeing that his visitor was Sanada, opting instead to smile gently in greeting.

The regulars solemnly piled into the room after their grim-faced vice-captain—whose eyes, Yukimura thought, might have darkened slightly when they alighted upon the single flower, though it lasted but a moment and he made no other acknowledgement of its existence.

“Buchou.”

He knew without anyone saying what news they brought; their countenances were indication enough.

“We’re sorry, buchou. We couldn’t bring home the win for you.”

His soft gaze traveled around the room, alighting on each of his teammates in turn, some gazing right back, some with their eyes downcast. Yukimura knew nothing yet of what had transpired during the singles matches against Seigaku, but he knew that his players had done their best. They always did.

Closing his eyes, he shook his head kindly. “It’s fine. You did your best. And we still have Nationals to get them back.” He smiled. Kirihara looked up; he was the first to return their captain’s smile.

The heavy atmosphere gradually cleared up as everyone tried to get over their loss, especially as Niou and Yagyuu started goofing off to lift the team’s spirits. The navy-haired captain knew that he was probably too kind-hearted at times—Rikkai’s motto was, after all, “Losing is unacceptable.” Even so, he was certainly all-too-capable of being a stern leader when needed, but now was not one of those times. It hurt him to see his friends down like this.

He didn’t participate much in the conversation. When Yanagi found him staring idly out the window, they decided it was time to head out and leave their buchou and fukubuchou alone for a while. Yukimura bade them farewell as they left and he didn’t miss the data player letting his hand linger a moment on Sanada’s arm before he followed the rest.

Sanada seemed almost reluctant as he took a seat in the bedside chair, refusing to meet his captain’s eyes, instead focusing his own on a point on the edge of the mattress closest to him. “Yukimura,” he intoned, his back as straight as his voice. “It was my fault. We would have won if I hadn’t lost. I don’t deserve to be the vice-captain.”

“Sanada.” His voice was harsh, his eyes steel. But his expression softened again when the ebony-haired boy looked up at him. “I don’t want to hear that from you; you’re the best vice-captain I could ever ask for. It wasn’t your fault.”

A small smile ghosted across his features at that, and the tension visibly lifted from his shoulders as he relaxed a little into the chair. After a bit of nonverbal prodding from Yukimura, he related the events of their lost singles matches.

“Hm,” the captain mused at the end of it, crossing his arms over his chest, settling back against the pillows and headboard. “Echizen’s more remarkable than I’d given him credit for.” Intrigue and determination flashed across his eyes when they met Sanada’s. “If we meet Seigaku at Nationals, I’m playing against Echizen.”

Sanada nodded once. “You’re not angry?”

He held his gaze for a moment before replying. “No. If you had underestimated him and not played to your fullest abilities and still lost, then yes, I would be. But he was just that much stronger. I might be a little annoyed that you pushed Echizen to evolve during the match, but I can’t be angry. That just makes him a better rival. I want to see how far he can go.” His grin was almost predatory as he began planning the defeat of Samurai Jr.

* * *

Shiraishi folded his arms over the back of his chair and rested his chin on them, watching as Yukimura finished making plans for their practice games next month. Without looking up from the papers, the dark-haired boy asked, “Shiraishi, do you have any plans for later today?”

The corner of his lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve promised to go to Chiba to meet with Rokkaku.”

“That’s a shame.” Rikkai’s captain set down his pen, flicking his eyes up to meet Shiraishi’s. “Since you’re here, I wanted to show you around the school a bit. We even have a rooftop garden.”

The brunet sat up, eyes glimmering with piqued interest. “A rooftop garden?”

“Un. I’m in charge of taking care of it this year.”

“Well, if it’s that,” he grinned, rising, “I suppose a little peek can’t hurt.”

Yukimura smiled pleasantly back at him and rose from his own seat to head for the club room door. Shiraishi followed a few paces behind.

“I was right about one thing, though,” he said without preamble as they fell into step in the hallway.

The other cocked an eyebrow. “About what?”

“Nationals. That you wouldn’t get your third straight title, though I was planning on it being _me_ who defeated you. I think Seigaku was the true dark horse no one was expecting.”

“True. Their Echizen certainly is interesting.”

“Kintarou was disappointed when he didn’t get to play against his idol ‘Koshimae.’”

Yukimura chuckled. “I’d say he was more than just disappointed. I heard about the trouble those two caused.”

“Yeah, well…” He grinned sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “He’s not exactly our wild child for nothing.”

He laughed again, pushing open a door. “We’re here.”

Shiraishi blinked. He hadn’t even noticed ascending the stairs. A gentle breeze ruffled their hair as they stepped out onto the roof, and Shiraishi looked around him in wonderment.

Strolling down one of the pathways, Yukimura pointed out a shrub with purplish, bell-shaped flowers. “This one’s belladonna, or deadly nightshade.”

“Its roots are extremely poisonous,” Shiraishi added. “Though the rest of it is, too. Just a little bit is lethal to an adult.”

Next he gestured toward pink flowers with wide, squarish petals. “Over there is the Indian Oleander.”

“That one has poison that can cause rashes.”

Yukimura turned to face him then, one eyebrow raised slightly. “Hehh, you weren’t lying when you said you knew a lot about poisonous plants. Should I be afraid?” he teased.

“Only if you get on my bad side,” he returned with a good-natured smirk.

The other shook his head slightly, halting to kneel before a bed of small, deep red flowers. “Here I have growing Pheasant’s Eye.”

“Pheasant’s Eye, huh?” Shiraishi mused, kneeling beside him, reaching a hand out to tilt one flower toward him with a slim finger. “Raising it must be a hassle.”

“It is; if you water it too much, it’ll rot. But the more troublesome it is, the prettier it is, as well.”

He nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his features. “I understand perfectly.”

“The Pheasant’s Eye…” Yukimura began, eyes distant as he mirrored the boy beside him. “Its scientific name is _Adonis annua_ , which originates from Greek mythology. Adonis was a human man loved deeply by the goddess of love and beauty, Aphrodite. She loved him more than anything and didn’t want to lose him, so she warned him to be cautious while hunting. He didn’t listen, and that day he wounded a wild boar but couldn’t kill it. It chased him through the forest until it ran him through with its tusks.

“When Aphrodite found him, there was nothing she could do to save him as his life slowly bled out. So she sprinkled nectar into his pooling blood, and from it sprouted flowers that bore his name. And through these flowers, he would continue to live for as long as the Earth does.”

“So that’s why they’re red.”

He nodded sadly, then levered himself up with a small huff. “Come. There’s one more I want to show you.”

Scrambling up, Shiraishi obediently trotted after the dark-haired boy as he led him to the other side of the garden. He halted, curious, as Yukimura bent to pick a salmon-petalled flower he recognized from a few weeks before.

Straightening, he kept his eyes trained on the delicate blossom in his hands as he half-turned toward the brunet. “ _Dahlia coccinea_. It represents elegance and dignity. With its reddish coloring, it’s commonly known as a ‘red dahlia.’” Now he stood directly in front of Shiraishi, only a few short centimeters separating them.

“I guess I got lucky in my choice of flowers then,” Shitenhouji’s captain breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

With a gentle smile, Yukimura reached up to tuck the flower behind Shiraishi’s left ear. The brunet took that opportunity to briefly close the distance between their lips. Pulling back slightly, a light flush on both their cheeks, he silently asked with searching eyes whether it was okay.

He answered by leaning up, placing both hands on either side of Shiraishi’s neck, and kissing him. Barely holding back his grin, Shiraishi settled his hands on Yukimura’s waist and kissed him back.

* * *

**-** **おまけ-**

“Buchou and Shiraishi-san have been acting awfully lovey-dovey today, haven’t they, Sanada-fukubuchou?”

Sanada said nothing but turned away, a look of undisguised irritation gracing his handsome features.

“Nee, nee,” Kirihara continued, oblivious. “You know what their pairing name should be? It should be—”

“‘ShiraYuki-hime because it sounds like Princess Snow White,’ is what you would say.”

The seaweed-headed boy looked put out at his senpai finishing his sentence. He was rather proud of what he thought to be a rather clever pun. “No fair, Yanagi-san. I wanted to say it!”

“Akaya.” The data player shot him a warning glance before walking over to Sanada and placing a hand consolingly on his shoulder.

“Ah, now that I think of it, Shiraishi-san is known as the Bible, isn’t he? So it makes sense that he would end up with our Child of God.”

Clenching his fist, the Emperor turned on his heel and stalked off, the Master dogging his heels, leaving behind a very confused Devil.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing is soooo awkwaaaaaard in places! Like, why. I don't know how to fix it! *cries* I don't know how to write Sanada either, and I feel like he came off more as weak than as overly hard on himself. Any suggestions on how to right this? He's an awesome character and I want to do him proper justice.
> 
> The scene with Sei and the rest of Rikkai in his hospital room wasn't supposed to happen. It just flowed that way and I was utterly powerless to stop it. But hey, at least we got to see the development of Sei moving from expecting/wanting to see Sanada to expecting/wanting to see Shiraishi.
> 
> The last section before the omake was based off of scenes in PairPuri episode 5. I don't know what Adonis myth the writers used in the episode, but the only one I know is in Ovid's _Metamorphoses_ , and that's the one I used in this. Also, the episode says that _Adonis amurensis_ is Pheasant's Eye, but in actuality it's a different species of Adonis flower, so I corrected it in this fic.
> 
> The red dahlia can also signify a change.
> 
> For those may not know:  
> 白幸姫: ShiraYuki-hime (my ship name for Shiraishi and Yukimura, though I usually just call them ShiraYuki, regardless)  
> 白雪姫: shirayukihime (Princess Snow White)
> 
> This fic was actually inspired by some fanart that I drew, rather than the other way around, and it can be found [here](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/melsbancroft/77153405/3817/3817_original.jpg). The art, in turn, was inspired in part by Sei's character song [ダリア](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oW6qrvG1Vp0) (Dahlia).


End file.
